


Sundays

by Tsuki_Amano



Series: 365 Stucky Shots [41]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, domestic husbands, unapologetic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 17:30:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8587489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuki_Amano/pseuds/Tsuki_Amano
Summary: Sundays are reserved. They're  marked off on his calendar and no one can touch his Sundays.Because Sundays are reserved for looking after Steve Rogers.





	

On Sundays, Bucky looks after Steve. Sundays are marked off in his calendar (he thinks they might be marked off in Steve’s calendar too, but he doesn’t ask because that’s Steve’s personal calendar). He keeps those days free, till Saturday night, he’s Bucky Barnes, agent on contract for the Avengers Initiative and charming librarian at the bookstore down the road. When the clock strikes midnight and Sunday rolls around, he’s just plain Bucky. That may not be enough for the rest of the world, but it’s more than enough for one Steve Rogers.

Curled up on the couch on Saturday evening, Sam’s watching some horror movie with them. More precisely, he’s watching a horror movie with Bucky, because Steve’s not actually watching the movie. He’s stretched out on the sofa with his head resting in Bucky’s lap, soft blanket covering his lower body. With his glasses propped on his face and a book in his hands, to a casual observer he’d look relaxed. Bucky can see the fine lines of tension and strain that mar his forehead and the way he holds his shoulders stiff, no matter how much Bucky rubs at them. It’s an indication of how tomorrow might go.

Midway through the movie, the actress on-screen lets out a piercing scream and Steve jolts in his lap.

His blue eyes are shot wide open and although he hasn’t moved from his position, his breathing is heavier and his hands clench the book so tightly that his fingers are making the pages wrinkle and fold.

Bucky leans down presses a kiss to his jaw, “You’re ok sweetheart, you’re fine.”

Repeated assurances fall off his tongue and he peppers his jaw with kisses. Five minutes later, he’s rewarded with a soft smile from the younger man and bright blue eyes that gleam up at him trustingly. “There’s my darling boy,” Bucky drawls quietly and grins like the cat that got the canary when he’s rewarded with a blush. He smacks a final kiss to his forehead and returns to watching the movie. Sam’s dutifully watching the movie, but the moment Steve returns to his book, he turns and gives Bucky a questioning look, one that Bucky shakes his head at. Steve’s fine, shaken up and strung tighter than a violin string, but he’s fine.

The movie ends and Bucky cracks a few jokes with Sam about the cheesy acting and laughs when he imitates the fearsome screams of the cast.

“Week’s not been too kind to him, has it?” Sam comments, tilting his chin towards Steve, who’s long since drifted off to sleep, book now resting at the side of his face. Bucky had removed his glasses and set them aside for safe-keeping ages ago. He looks down and sighs, “When is it ever?”

“Good point.”

They make small talk for a few more minutes, keeping their voices down and soon Sam says goodbye and leaves. Steve had given him a spare key and he knew the man would never abuse that.

He lets himself relax with the solid weight of Steve on his lap for a few more minutes, before carefully standing up and then hoisting his lover into his arms. When he gets to the bedroom, he changes into his own sleepwear, just a pair of soft sleeping pants and then makes quick work of Steve’s jeans and button-up, pulling on a pair of jogging pants. Padding into the living room, he makes sure everything is cleaned and all the windows are shut before he heads back into the bedroom.

Steve’s awake when he gets back, although he uses the term loosely. Blue eyes stare blearily at him and he yawns when he tries to ask a question. Getting into bed, Bucky switches off the table lamp and pulls the covers up, drawing Steve into his arms and nuzzling behind his ear. “Go to sleep punk.”

There’s a puff of exhaled air, a laugh and a kiss to his collarbone before they both drift off.

When Sunday rolls around, Bucky’s the first one out of bed. Usually, Steve’s up at some unholy time in the morning, insisting on going for his morning run. Bucky admires his enthusiasm and dedication, but he also reserves his right to admire his lover from the warmth of his own bed. But today, there are no alarms, if Steve wakes up early, he’s soothed back to sleep and drawn back in the warm cocoon of Bucky’s embrace.

Around 9, Bucky quietly slides out of bed and stretches, humming when he feels his joints pop. Breakfast is simple, eggs on toast and sausages. He cuts up some fruit and makes two cups of steaming tea for them before placing them on the dining table.

Waking Steve up on these days is an art in itself. With Bucky gone from the bed, Steve’s set out for searching for any extra warmth that he can. Which is why Bucky returns to a big Steve-shaped cocoon. He starts out by slowly sifting his fingers through the tufts of hair that poke out from the top and then trails his fingers lower to the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. By the time he begins to trace the outline of his lips, Steve’s already begun to stir.

Letting out an unintelligible whine, he pulls the comforter back over his and Bucky grins, “Come on sunshine, up and ‘attem. Breakfast’s on the table.”

“Don’t want to move.”

“Breakfast in bed?”

The covers shift a little and Steve makes grabby hands at Bucky, who obligingly lets himself be pulled down for a few minutes. It’s easy for Bucky to feel how much more relaxed Steve is, how he lets himself go limp in Bucky’s arms. After five minutes, he says, “Alright sweetheart, time to have breakfast.”

Steve nods and they slide out of bed, making their way to the dining table. Bucky watches him like a hawk, making sure he finishes everything that’s on his plate and encourages him to take seconds. They wash up in lazy silence.

After breakfast, they take a trip to the park. It’s warm enough that Steve can wear a pair of shorts and a short sleeved top. Bucky prefers his long-sleeved plaid shirts and he sees Steve side-eye it but doesn’t say anything. They live close enough to the park that they can walk, and he places two bottles of water, a bottle of juice and a wedge of cake in a backpack. He takes a book and Steve picks up his sketch book and some pencils.

On the way to the park, he holds Steve’s hand in his own and listens to him ramble about everything and nothing all at once. They stop at a deli which is on the way and pick up sandwiches, grinning at the elderly lady who’s at the counter every Sunday.

They settle down beneath the shade of a large tree and Bucky stops reading every so often to make sure Steve says hydrated and fed.

Midway through the day, an over-excitable ball of a golden retriever puppy runs towards Steve and drops a well-chewed ball before tumbling over into his lap. Bucky keeps a jibe about dogs recognizing their own kind to himself. Instead he settles back and watches as Steve plays with the puppy, waving off the apologies of the owner. They’ve talked about getting a dog for themselves, but they’ve both decided it’s not for the best right now. Bucky still has nightmares more than twice a week and Steve’s not sure he’s at home enough to take on the responsibility.

By the time Steve comes back, he’s slightly out of breath and his hair is adorably mussed. He laughs as Bucky fixes it, not before attempting to give him a faux-hawk.

When they head home, Steve’s a lot quieter, as he normally is at this time of day. He leans more heavily into Bucky’s side and one of his hands grip the hem of Bucky’s shirt.

The sun’s started to sink in the horizon by the time they reach home, and Bucky starts preparing for the next part of the day. He keeps his supplies ready in the shower and then sets out a change of clothes for them both.

He calls for Steve who treads carefully into the bathroom, resembling a growing fawn. He shyly strips and stands in the hot spray of the showerhead, waiting for Bucky to come behind him. With strong sure moves, Bucky uses a loofah to spread that specially scented shower gel they’d gotten. With each stroke, he feels the tension drain from Steve’s body, almost like it’s being washed away.

Lathering up his hair with shampoo, he makes sure none of it runs into his eyes and rinses it out, before cleaning himself up.

Today’s for Steve.

When they’re done, he allows them a quick moment of peace, where they stand under the streaming water for a minute, Bucky’s arms wrapped around Steve and places his chin on Steve’s shoulder, peppering kisses onto the back of his neck.

Drying him off with a warm fluffy towel, he pulls one of his larger sweatshirts over Steve’s head and helps into a pair of sweatpants. He towels off his hair, ignoring the way Steve scrunches up his nose when he does that.

Dinner’s Chinese take-out, eating from cartons on the couch, tangled up in each other.

They watch cheesy videos on YouTube after, Bucky rubbing some lotion into Steve’s feet as they do. Steve had protested at first, but Bucky had shrugged and said, “It’s getting dry, don’t worry about it.” Now it’s become a regular part of their Sundays, a regular part of the way he looks after him.

Steve’s eyes begin to drift shut by 10.30 and while Bucky would normally crack a joke about nonagenarians, today, he calmly shuts the TV off and ushers him into bed. He picks up a book he’s been reading, allowing Steve to cuddle into his side, and picks up where they’d left off last week, reading aloud, letting his voice fill the air.

He continues long past when Steve’s breathing has evened out.

He shuts the book and places it to the side, before looking down at Steve, his face smooth and lax without any tension.

Tomorrow the world will call for Captain America, and Steve will need to be that pillar of strength and courage that they need.

Today, it’s enough that he can look after his Stevie.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I could pretend I have an excuse. I'd be lying though.


End file.
